


on moving on

by divineglass



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, The Snowmen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:59:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divineglass/pseuds/divineglass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But now he stands among the clouds and finds himself listless; he no longer wants to help out those who only end up hurting him in the end. They leave, they find someone else, they die. It’s a vicious cycle that he no longer wants any part of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on moving on

**Author's Note:**

> Something that popped into my head and insisted to be written after seeing the new promo poster for the Christmas special. First fic on AO3! Posted also on Tumblr last night. :)

As he stands among the clouds, his mind drifts back to the past months, traveling alone, traveling with River. Though there would be no more travels with River, he knew. The Singing Towers of Darillium came and went, and he had cried, and she had gone to The Library. It had been her time, he knew. It did not make it hurt any less--his Ponds were _all_ gone, now.  
  
But now he stands among the clouds and finds himself listless; he no longer wants to help out those who only end up hurting him in the end. They leave, they find someone else, they die. It’s a vicious cycle that he no longer wants any part of. So, when Strax, Madam Vastra, and Jenny contact him, he tells them that he is through--he is retired. His time has come and gone, and he only wishes to live amongst the clouds and see the universe; to live out the rest of his god forsaken life the only way he knows how.  
  
The cries start and he tries to ignore them for as long as he can, but soon the TARDIS is acting out; she knows what is best for him, and she knows that he needs to help. He fusses and whines at her, before she finally kicks him down a ladder and he lands among the snow.  
  
He looks up, top hat crooked and glasses askew, and his eyes focus on a scene through a window: a woman, tucking her charges into bed and looking out the window as she does. He cannot help but smile at the wistful expression on her features; her eyes scream of hope and faith. He wishes he knew what she spoke to them as she turned off the lantern.  
  
He wanders around for a few days, meeting up with Madam Vastra, Jenny, and Strax on the third day he is down from his cloud. The snow, they say, is enchanted. It is nothing he has ever encountered, and a youthful joy encapsulates him, a joy that only old men exhibit when they discover something new, after all these years. And he has had many, many years.  
  
A child’s laugh turns into a scream of terror and he is off, running, always running, to the sound of children’s cries. The woman from the window stands in an alley with her charges, who cower behind her from their snowmen, which have sprouted faces. He runs to her and brandishes his sonic screwdriver, taking readings from the snow creatures that seem to be feeding off the thoughts of the children. “Inside,” he barks at the children, and off they run, leaving him with the woman. “What’s your name?” he asks, removing his glasses; the snowmen fall to the ground, their energy depleted without the children around.  
  
When she responds with an inquisitive, “Clara,” he is surprised to recognize the voice. A voice he had heard so long ago, when his Ponds were still with him--but no, it can’t be. She was a Dalek--she couldn’t be here. He writes it off as coincidence (though a voice tells him there is no such thing as coincidence), and the two come to defeat the Snowmen, her brains outwitting him in the end.  
  
“Clara,” he says, standing on the doorstep of her home, as she stands in the doorway.  
  
“Doctor,” she replies, her eyes smiling at him.  
  
“I’ve been... traveling alone for a while,” he starts. “Didn’t think I’d find anyone else so.. so exciting.”  
  
At this, he can see her cheeks turn redder. “Doctor, you are too forward!” she cries, though her voice lacks a certain conviction that tells him that he is, in fact, _not_ being too forward.  
  
“Sorry, sorry!” he apologizes anyway, holding his hands up in a flailing mess of limbs. “Just thought you might want to see other planets. There are whole worlds out there, planets full of _nice_ snowmen and planets with seas the color of amethyst. Galaxies shifting and changing before your very eyes. So... what about it?”  
  
He is painfully brought back to the last time he asked someone to travel with him, but he pushes it out of his head, images of fire-red hair and a Roman centurion flashing through his memory. _I’ll deal with that later,_ he promises himself, and looks to her--slightly down, for she is a good head shorter than him.  
  
“What about what?” she asks, though now he can tell she is playing coy.  
  
“Come with me,” he states, and he stands there for a moment, his hearts beating rapidly against his ribcage and his eyes telling stories of hope.  
  
She is quiet for a while, and he can tell she is calculating her options. Stay, and continue as a governess--or travel with the Doctor. A few painstaking moments later, her face lights up in a smile. “Okay.”  
  
Clara takes his hand and tugs him down the stoop, closing the door behind her with her other hand.  
  
He hasn’t felt this exhilarated in years.  
  
  



End file.
